FREAKS || Jerome Valeska¹

12 || Troubled Doll

"Reese... I want you to tell me what your father did to you."

The unwavering determination that coated the psychiatrist's eyes scared me to death. She probably thought I was playing games with her. Yet, she didn't know that as soon as she asked that, my throat constricted so tight it was hard for me to breathe. It was a touchy subject. To this day, I still wasn't able to talk about it with Ed.

She could have asked about my feelings towards him - I hated that man. In a couple of words, I'd say he was the most arrogant, cold-hearted son of a bitch, who hated us as much as he hated himself. He loved to make me cry.

He didn't deserve parole.

He didn't deserve prison.

He didn't deserve to be alive.

But to expose and explain the deep cuts he made in full detail was like asking me to reverse time and relive it. It was only a question... But it was one that made me panic the most, sweat cold, and feel incarcerated and broken. It set loose the bloodthirsty monsters lurking in the darkest depths of my mind. Monsters that I tried hard to keep locked and hidden. But one trigger and it'd send me on a frenzy - An emotional train wreck.

I briefly stared intently at the lines on my hands before glancing over at her. "No, I'd... I'd rather not say anything. Thank you." I shook my head softly. She stared, frustrated. About a week and a half ago, she asked the same damn question. I never replied, but she was persistent. I didn't want to remember the horrible things - The bruises, the hands, the smell of smoke and alcohol, the table of poker, all the household yelling, or the permanent scars on me. Traumatic experiences.

I wanted none of it.

"You're going to have to talk about it one day." The woman coaxed, staring at my file, but I still didn't say a thing and stared at the table. "Did he abuse you?... Sexually?" Her curiosity snapped me from whatever thoughts I had running in my head. My eyes narrowed viciously.

"No... He didn't." I replied, placing my head in my shaking hand, trying to contain the sadness that consumed me. "He didn't... He - um - he never got the chance to. Believe me, if that pig did that to me, he would've been my first target."

"Help me understand why you're in pain."

I scoffed. "I don't want you to, and I don't want your help!" The woman stared at me sympathetically. "You're asking too much."

She frowned but continued pressuring, "Am I? Why?"

"What's so wrong with you that you have to ask me to re-live my nightmares? My brother's?" I sneered with a growl, making her purse her lips. My heart pulsated, threatening to rip through the thick ribcage. "He beat Ed a million times, and I don't want to remember it. I can't! I won't!"

My body fidgeted in its spot - Feet bouncing, fingers fiddling. I glared. The muscles on her face were relaxed, but I could see a burning frustration. Her impatience to get me to spill my darkest secrets. So, she could write my words, my bloodcurdling memories, into blank pages and turn them into a file. To study me like a subject. For her, it might be helpful, but to me, turning experiences into words didn't make them any less of a painful memory in my head.

"Can I leave now?"

The woman stared for a couple of seconds, confused. Her gaze flickered down to the file, which I could see had few words - she hadn't gotten enough out of me. I swallowed back tears. The room seemed to get smaller. I just wanted to forget everything. The quietness added to the anxiety building up. I opened and closed my hands over the table. Even in a cool room, they were getting sweaty.

"I'm sorry, but you can't -"

My hand slammed against the table quicker than I had time to stop, making the older woman jump with a gasp. "I don't fucking care!" I ran my stinging fingers through my tangled hair anxiously, hands shaking, tears beginning to stream. I was like a bomb. "I want to leave this room, and I don't wanna tell you anything." I barked at her as tears finally spilled down my face furiously.